


Broken

by aimeejessica



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, Assault, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeejessica/pseuds/aimeejessica
Summary: Based off a prompt i received on tumblr.Set somewhere between season 3 and 4.(may be multi-chapter) Shelagh gets attacked in the streets- broken rib, black eye, maybe even rape- and she becomes all distant and does not tell Patrick and only pushes him away. Sister Julienne and Truxie know as they were the ones to originally help her but the swore not to tell Patrick who is worrying why his wife won't let him touch her.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Patrick Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this is going to be graphic. The rating may change.  
> This delves into sexual and physical assault.

The head nun and the platinum blonde nurse had finished their busy, understaffed shift at the maternity home. A call had been made to the surgery early in the evening, requiring a midwife for a home delivery. When asked why they hadn't contacted Nonnatus House, they had been told that all the midwives were out.

The number of children being born in the East End had spread the midwives thin, requiring all hands on deck for every hour, of every day. 

Nurse Turner had taken it upon herself to see to the home delivery, Sister Julienne and Nurse Franklin preoccupied with Doctor Turner in the delivery room, assisting the labouring woman as she ran into complications.

With Sister Julienne and Nurse Franklin riding their bicycles back through dark, cobbled streets, each felt relief in the silence of the crisp night air. Each dressed in a long cloak to should their bodies from the cold that came with the change of seasons, and Nurse Franklin felt slightly envious of her older colleague, her wimple, undoubtedly, keeping her head and ears warmer than the nurse's small, woollen cap.

The blonde nurse had stopped peddling for a moment, as something in the silence piqued her ears. Sister Julienne, upon hearing the ticking of each wheel rotation, followed suit and allowed her bicycle to come to a stop next to the younger woman's.

Nurse Franklin could sense the wrinkled, blue eyes on her, and she held up her hand to quietly communicate that she was still listening. 

The sound of a pained cry echoed down the empty streets, and the colleagues stared at each other, their eyes wide as confirmation that they had both heard the haunting noise.

Dismounting their transport, they ran up the dimly lit street toward the sounds of the cries. Pushing their bicycles as they ran, the chains clattered loudly as wheels bounced across the uneven, cobbled road.

The pair followed their ears down a dark alley, littered with rubbish sacks and old building materials; tall, brick buildings creating a claustrophobic feeling to the now eerie night.

Nurse Franklin leaned her bicycle against the rough wall, not caring if it were to fall due to her ill placement. She was quick to retrieve the heavy, worn medical case housed on the back with Sister Julienne following suit.

"Sweetie," Nurse Franklin called out, approaching the silhouette of a woman's body caught in the light from the midwife's bicycles. 

The woman faced away from her to-be-saviours, curled on the dirty floor in the foetal position; a dark, woollen cloak shrouding her injured body. Her breathing was short, each intake seemed to send a stab of pain through her.

"Sweetie, we are here to help you," Nurse Franklin now knelt on the cool ground, placing a tentative hand on the woman's shoulder. 

Her hair was a mess, a mixture of dried dirt and blood marring what seemed to be, a beautiful honey colour naturally. A quick glimpse of her shaded face showed swelling; an her left eye swollen shut, the bruised having not yet mad an appearance. There were lacerations to her face, trails of blood having solidified on the woman.

"We are going to need to move you," Sister Julienne told the broken woman. "Would that be alright?"

A slow nod of the head from the woman, and Sister Julienne and Nurse Franklin set about moving their injured patient.

Careful to support her head as they did, the pair used practiced technique to roll the woman to her back. It was there that her face became illuminated under the light and it dawned on the, who their patient was.

"M-my dear," Sister Julienne, usually the most composed and professional under intense circumstances, couldn't stop herself. "My dear, Shelagh,"

Nurse Franklin was stunned, caught like a deer in headlights. She, and she supposed Sister Julienne and Doctor Turner, had assumed she was either still out at the home birth, or had retired home after a successful delivery. She didn't expect to see one of her colleagues, one of her  _ friends _ , to be lying in a dark alley, in the middle of the night, bloody, broken and bruised.

"Alright, sweetie," her ever chripy and cheery voice keeping her professional facade alive. "We are just going to do a sweep of your body for blood and fluids," she wasn't really telling Shelagh, she was trying to keep her mind focused on the task at hand. "Then we will check over you and bring you back to Nonnatus with us,"

Sister Julienne sent a warning glance at the younger nurse; they needed to be calling an ambulance and getting her rushed to hospital, not walking her through Poplar in the middle of the night. 

Shelagh was reluctant to let go of the heavy cloak she held tight around her body. Her arms had withdrawn in the little arm cut outs, holding the fabric tightly between bruised fingers and broken nails.

Each of them wearing gloves pulled from their medical cases, Nurse Franklin started a blood sweep at her head, careful for any injuries she might have sustained, while also feeling for any deformities. Bringing her gloved hands out and checking for bodily fluids, she resumed her sweep.

Sister Julienne had started at Shelagh's feet and legs. Her heart broke as she realised Shelagh was missing a shoe, and the usually pristine flesh coloured nylons, were now marred with holes; ladders running the entirety of the small woman's legs.

"Shelagh, sweetie," Nurse Franklin gently tried to pry the protective cloak from her grasp. "We need to check you; we aren't going to hurt you," 

It was only now, as the Nurse searched her friend's face for any form of emotion, she realised that the usual specs that she had been wearing for the last couple of years, were nowhere in sight.

It was hard to read Shelagh at the best of times, and now with the woman's left eye swollen shut, blood trails across her face, a split lip and hair in a tangled mess, it was making it even more difficult for the medics to decipher their coworker.

Sister Julienne moved up Shelagh' body, settling on her knees next to her arm. Silently, she removed the wooden cross that hung from her neck and placed it atop where Shelagh's hands would be clutching at the cloak.

Shelagh groaned as the weight of the cross settled on her chest for the first time in years. "Please, Shelagh," Sister Julienne pleaded quietly. "We need to make sure you are stable before we move you,"

It took her a few moments to give up the fight, loosening her death grip on the fabric and allowing it to be peeled away from her body. 

Neither woman wanted to look at their friend in her state, but they had an obligation to her. She was still dressed in her light blue, cotton nursing dress; buttons were missing from the front, presumably from being torn, exposing the slip Shelagh usually wore underneath, however, the material of the slip had ripped at the shoulder and it hung open, exposing her brassiere.

There were angry red marks across the flesh the women could see; they looked like they were born from a mixture of violent techniques used against her. Ignoring the superficial wounds, the women went to work, checking for any serious injury. 

"It looks like you may have a couple of cracked ribs, sweetie," Nurse Franklin carefully covered Shelagh back up with her cloak. "We can give Doctor Turner a call and get him to take you home,"

Shelagh paled at the mention of her husband's name, grunting a pained response as she began to shake her head. "Nonnatus," she managed to breath out, wincing in pain at each syllable.

* * *

  
  


It had been a slow walk to Nonnatus. Shelagh, being the stubborn woman she was, didn't want a fuss made over her, completely downplaying the obvious assault. 

Sister Julienne had tried to get Shelagh to give a statement to police, but the younger woman had refused; her mind had blocked the image of the assault in a natural attempt to protect her.

Nurse Franklin had led Shelagh through the quiet halls of the convent, the occasional creak of the floorboards breaking the silence. 

"Shelagh," Nurse Franklin sighed when they had reached an empty room. "Do you mind if I do an internal examination?"

Shelagh had stiffened at the blonde's words, not wanting to be checked in the most intimate of ways. She knew it was procedure but here she was, wanting nothing more than to run to the bathroom and scrub herself off the violence that had befallen her.

Shelagh had nodded timidly at the nurse, allowing herself to be taken into the vacant bedroom. Shedding her cloak, she hung it over the post at the foot of the bed before laying on the unmade furniture.

Nurse Franklin tried to not stare as she watched her smaller coworker lay down. The usual tidiness and confidence that radiated off the woman was missing; she seemed so young and frightened.

With Shelagh's knees bent, her feet as close to her rear as she could, she slowly and timidly let her knees fall apart, exposing herself to the young nurse.

Nurse Franklin wanted the examination to be as quick and painless as she could make it, but that didn't stop the gasp as Shelagh exposed herself.

More torn fabric was found; the crotch of the nylons having been torn open, and the simple white underwear she wore, also torn but stained red with blood. 

"If you need to stop, sweetie, just let me know," Nurse Franklin soothed, assisting the woman in removing the destroyed fabrics.

Shelagh kept her eye clenched shut, a few stray tears following gravity down the side of her face and dripping off her earlobe. 

"Alrighg, this will be cold," Nurse Franklin warned as she pulled on gloves in preparation for the internal checks. "This will all be over in two shakes of a lambs tail,"

Nurse Franklin's gloved fingers made quick work checking the older woman's entrance, noticing the tearing and bruising that was blossoming under the sensitive flesh. She tried to ignore the hiss of pain that sounded as she continued her examination.

Slipping two fingers in, and feeling around the woman for any internal damage, she was fortunate not to find anything serious. However, as she withdrew her fingers, she realised they were coated in a thin layer of blood and semen.

"I am so sorry, Shelagh," it was a whispered apology, and it wouldn't change the events that lead her to this moment.

"Please don't tell Patrick," Shelagh managed to breath out, still struggling with the pain radiating from her ribs.

"Shelagh -" the protest fell on deaf ears.

"Please, Trixie," 

Submitting to defeat, the blonde nurse nodded her head. "Very well. Shall I draw you a bath?"

"Please,"

  
  


* * *

  
  


A warm bath had been drawn for Shelagh, allowing her bruised muscles to soak in the warmth. Trixie had stayed with her, helping her to carefully wash away some evidence of the evening. 

She had asked the younger woman for a moment so she could attempt to straighten her thoughts, but the more she lay submerged in the warm water the more vivid the images became.

She found herself reaching for the discarded washcloth and soap, needing to further scrub her body free from the dirt left behind on her. She scrubbed violently, hissing as the soap lathered cloth seeped into the cuts and grazes spotted over her body.

Finally, taking the cloth between her legs, she cried out as the mental wall came crashing down and the images scarring her mind from that night overwhelmed her.

No more tears fell although she wished they would.


	2. Chapter 2

She laid against the back of the metal tub, her arms pressed down her sides under the now cold water. She knew she would need to get herself out of the bath at some point, but the pain that shot through her body held her down. 

She wanted to be self sufficient, not relying on Sister Julienne, nor Nurse Franklin, and most definitely from her husband.

Her body protested as she leaned forward into a hunched position, pulling the plug at her feet. Her eyes watched as the water whirlpooled around the drain, feeling her body become heavier as the water left the tub.

"Shelagh, are you alright?" Sister Julienne had been sat on a chair next to the bathroom door. It seemed that her and Nurse Franklin would be taking turns caring for the battered woman.

"Yes," her response was short and pained; it was all she could manage as her position crumpled her fractured ribs against her lungs. 

"Please, let me help," within a moment Sister Julienne had allowed herself entry to the bathroom, quietly pushing the door shut behind her with a click. Her eyes reaching the fragile woman in the tub, she couldn't stop the emotion being heard in her voice. "Oh my dear,"

She closed the space between them, rushing to the younger woman's side to assist her out of the tub. She groaned in pain as Sister Julienne put her arms under her own, this was shortly followed by a wince as she stretched.

"I'm so sorry," Sister Julienne muttered as she helped the smaller woman step from the tub. She tried desperately to keep her eyes averted from Shelagh's damaged body, but it was impossible.

Her eyes saw the dark teeth marks across Shelagh's neck and clavicle, the red imprint of large hands across her breasts and the deep bruises on the left side of her rib cage. Her eyes lastly fell on the white scar across her abdomen; it would undoubtedly turn a shade of purple in the coming days.

Fetching the towel on the vanity behind her, she held it open for Shelagh to step into, to cocoon her in its warmth and as a barrier of protection from the evil forces that had taken their toll on the poor woman that night.

Gently patting the petite woman dry, she told her to wait while she fetched a dressing gown and a nightdress from one of the nurses.

Shelagh, being left alone again, stood in front of the vanity, slowly allowing her eyes to stare at her form in the mirror.

Her reflection was blurry, her lack of glasses coupled with her damaged left eye causing her inability to see clearly. However, she was more than able to make out the dark marks marring her flesh, and as she nervously opened the towel to expose her bare body, she crumbled.

Her hands fell to the vanity, using her arms to support her weight, keeping her head hung. She attempted to breathe her way through the mental pain, but physical pain prevented her from doing so and so she cried out as frustration coursed through her.

Bringing her head back up to look at herself closely, she noticed her lip was split and there were slight cuts and grazes to her forehead. Tracing a finger over the wounds, she hissed as she gently pushed on the swollen eye. She assumed the eye would be bloodshot underneath, and she had no idea whether she would have vision in it.

Sister Julienne wasn't gone long, making a speedy return to aid her friend. The sight she came back to broke her heart; whatever strength she had mustered, fell by the wayside and she cried.

Shelagh was inspecting her injuries in the mirror, having discarded her towel to get a closer look at herself.

"Shelagh," the older woman's voice pulled Shelagh from her reflection; her inability to see clearly, disguised the fact that her friend was now shedding tears for her.

Sister Julienne made careful work slipping the nightdress over Shelagh's head, allowing the garment to engulf her small form. She was the smallest nurse to have come through Nonnatus, and with Cynthia away at the Mother House, there was no one that was as petite as her. 

The Nun held the dressing gown open for Shelagh to step into, letting the nurse wrap it around her and fasten the tie.

"I don't know what to tell Patrick," she managed to breathe out. "I don't want him to see me like this,"

"This wasn't your fault," it was a soft reply, a wrinkled hand cupping Shelagh's. "Let's get you settled in bed. I'll make a phone call to Doctor Turner and let him know you're staying with us for the night."

* * *

Shelagh replayed the night over in her mind; everything from the phone call requesting a midwife for a home delivery, her walk from the maternity home to the flat, and the beginning of her walk back to the maternity home. Her mind blanking when she tried to think of the attack, and the lead up to her arriving at Nonnatus House.

Laying on her back, she stared at the ceiling. It was the only position she could get even remotely comfortable in. She wondered if Patrick had worried when she hadn't returned home, she hoped he had managed to look after Timothy and baby Angela. She assumed he would have just headed to the local chippy for their dinner, and hoped that he had managed to sort a bottle for their daughter. 

Tears began to prickle behind her uninjured right eye as she thought about her family. Angela was only a couple of months old, still needing to be cared for around the clock. Shelagh scolded herself for returning to work so soon after the adoption.

Had she not returned to work, this incident could have been avoided. She felt shame flush through her as she doubted her ability to be a good mother to children she hadn't given birth to.

When at work, she seemed to have a natural, motherly instinct to her, but the more she thought about her lack of experience in childbearing, the more she understood she lacked what it was to be a true mother.

Another man had laid with her, and the thought turned her blood to ice. She hadn't chosen it, and she never would have but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had been unfaithful to her husband. Would he ever want to be with her again, knowing another man had been in her; had defiled her.

Her thoughts caused her body to tense up, remembering the feeling of the assault, but never remembering what it looked like.

She wondered what had happened to her glasses during the night, noticing they hadn't been returned to her since her arrival back at the convent, she supposed they had been lost to the night. 

A thought struck her, as she raised her left hand and brought it close to her face for inspection. Her wedding band was no longer on her finger, a small indent on her finger being the only indication she should be wearing one. More tears pooled in her eye as she was missing the only item she had from her husband. 

She noticed her usual tidy, filed nails were chipped in places, and some of her fingers were bruised. Turning her hand around, she used her right hand to trace the faint scar that was still upon her palm. She pressed her lips to the scar, finding comfort in the motion; remembering how Patrick had done the same two years prior.

She didn't know what to do.

She had been assaulted, robbed and raped. How was she meant to go home and act like everything was okay? How was she meant to press charges if she had no recollection of what had happened, where it had happened and who had committed the crime? Everyone would ask questions, her face baring the marks of what had happened. 

And the worst question she asked herself - would he still love her, and want her after she had been left broken and discarded like trash?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate doing this to poor Shelagh 😭
> 
> What do you guys think?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I should really write my next chapter of Love and War, but I had too many ideas circulating with this so I had to get it all out.
> 
> Our poor Shelagh.


End file.
